Share this starter pack

How I Go To The Woods by Mary Oliver

Two things came to mind this morning while watching the Justin Bieber Coachella performance replay. The time I was 13 and told my sister that the acoustic version of “U Smile” would heal her postpartum depression. And, I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. ♡ By the way, if I’ve discussed Justin Bieber with you, I must love you very much.

Eileen Myles’ Instagram Presence

I recommend this screenshot of a screenshot the poet Eileen Myles shared on their Instagram story once. I tried to find the original work but couldn’t find anything. Happy to enjoy it for a moment instead. I’ve linked their instagram profile and suggest following them for more interesting writing recs.

Small Actors by Jameson Fitzpatrick

“someone’s friend’s mother’s friend” ♡

Coming Home by Laura Gilpin

Coming Home from The Hocus-Pocus of the Universe by Laura Gilpin, published in 1977. Gilpin was a registered nurse by day, poet by night. She won the Walt Whitman award for poetry or something (i am too sleepy to research and idk what the walt whitman award is, but for sure impressive) and then decided to pursue nursing. She completed two collections of poetry before she unfortunately passed away at 56. I enjoy her blunt and curious perspective. You can borrow a copy of her book for free on the Internet Archive, linked here. This poem is on page 72. And here is Coming Home in it’s entirety since I couldn’t fit the whole thing in the picture. Enjoy! Coming Home by Laura Gilpin You wanted to come home / for your favorite season / but you’re too late. / Only the tight fists of apples / still cling to the trees. / And as you stand in the back yard / helping your father rake / the leaves out from between / the apple trees, / it is almost winter. / The swallows have already / gathered up their shadows / and moved south / and the cardinals, / perched in the top branches, / are listening for snow. / With each stroke of the rake / you uncover more leaves, / mushrooms, soft decaying apples, / heaping them into the wheelbarrow / like debris. / Your father has kept the fire burning. / You pile on more leaves and / both of you watch the smoke rise / like the shadow of birds leaving. / You’ve come home unprepared / for this new season / the way a worm falls asleep /beside an apple blossom / and wakes up deep in the fruit. 🪱

How I Go To The Woods by Mary Oliver

Two things came to mind this morning while watching the Justin Bieber Coachella performance replay. The time I was 13 and told my sister that the acoustic version of “U Smile” would heal her postpartum depression. And, I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. ♡ By the way, if I’ve discussed Justin Bieber with you, I must love you very much.

Eileen Myles’ Instagram Presence

I recommend this screenshot of a screenshot the poet Eileen Myles shared on their Instagram story once. I tried to find the original work but couldn’t find anything. Happy to enjoy it for a moment instead. I’ve linked their instagram profile and suggest following them for more interesting writing recs.

Small Actors by Jameson Fitzpatrick

“someone’s friend’s mother’s friend” ♡

Coming Home by Laura Gilpin

Coming Home from The Hocus-Pocus of the Universe by Laura Gilpin, published in 1977. Gilpin was a registered nurse by day, poet by night. She won the Walt Whitman award for poetry or something (i am too sleepy to research and idk what the walt whitman award is, but for sure impressive) and then decided to pursue nursing. She completed two collections of poetry before she unfortunately passed away at 56. I enjoy her blunt and curious perspective. You can borrow a copy of her book for free on the Internet Archive, linked here. This poem is on page 72. And here is Coming Home in it’s entirety since I couldn’t fit the whole thing in the picture. Enjoy! Coming Home by Laura Gilpin You wanted to come home / for your favorite season / but you’re too late. / Only the tight fists of apples / still cling to the trees. / And as you stand in the back yard / helping your father rake / the leaves out from between / the apple trees, / it is almost winter. / The swallows have already / gathered up their shadows / and moved south / and the cardinals, / perched in the top branches, / are listening for snow. / With each stroke of the rake / you uncover more leaves, / mushrooms, soft decaying apples, / heaping them into the wheelbarrow / like debris. / Your father has kept the fire burning. / You pile on more leaves and / both of you watch the smoke rise / like the shadow of birds leaving. / You’ve come home unprepared / for this new season / the way a worm falls asleep /beside an apple blossom / and wakes up deep in the fruit. 🪱